Page 39 of Knowing You
I sit on the sofa and my phone bleeps.
Vi,
I’m so glad you’re feeling better. I felt like Prince Charming abandoned at the ball by Cinderella! Not that I see you as some sort of scullery maid. I’m sure you look just as fantastic after midnight. And you didn’t leave a shoe behind – just your pink sunglasses. I was tempted to keep them for myself but my head’s too big (please, don’t make any observations about that). Sunshine and snacks sound great. How about ten thirty? I think that cafe opens at half past eleven on a Sunday. And we can discuss submitting Alien Hearts to Thoth.
Casey
Warmth courses through my veins. Bella may be a little overpowering at times, but thanks to her, everything is back on track. I message back my agreement without acknowledging the slightest interest in his manuscript.
Chapter 17
Getting ready to meet Casey takes a considerable while and half an hour alone to decide what to wear. In the past, I’d simply grab a pair of trousers and a top. When we first started dating, Lenny used to say it was a joy to be with someone who spent less time in the bathroom than him. Whereas now, I have hair to style and make-up to apply.
After much inner conflict, I choose shorts, a figure hugging T-shirt and a flowing white crocheted cardigan from a little boutique in Covent Garden. Shorts only formed part of my holiday wardrobe before. For the first time in my life, I shave above the knee and apply moisturiser with just a hint of tan. I could waste hours online studying beauty videos and reading reviews of products that promise to make you a ten out of ten. This is not something I ever thought I would say.
I glance at my watch. Nine o’clock. I’ve been up since seven. That’s another thing that has changed. On a Sunday I’d often lie in, reading a book after cuddling up to Lenny, who’d feel snug and comforting. These days I am up with the birds doing my nails or cleaning the flat. By taking more care of myself, I somehow feel more efficient and time-table every hour.
There’s a knock at the door. It’s Kath. I haven’t seen her much the last few days. Her smile looks a little forced and her movements are slow.
‘Just checking you’re going to book club this afternoon,’ she says. ‘We’re all so keen and want to show you the blog posts we’ve managed to put up.’
‘I’ve been following Vintage Views’ progress online and have read them already. They look great. But of course I am, although is it okay if you get a taxi today? I’m out with a friend and won’t have time to come back here before meeting at the home.’ I hate letting her down by not giving her a lift, as her income is so tight. But increasingly I realise Bella is right and I need to put myself first. In fact, I’d managed to thwart a suggestion that the book club meet again one evening last week. I’ve been feeling shattered after work and it’s always great to hang out with Bella.
‘Okay, see you later then,’ says Kath and she yawns. ‘Goodness. I slept terribly last night – how about you?’ Her eyes scour my face. ‘Is work demanding at the moment? Perhaps you should ease off your fitness routine for a while. Relax more. You deserve it.’
In slightly clipped tones, I explain that I enjoy exercise, difficult as that might be to believe after her only ever seeing me wear trainers for travelling to work.
‘How about coming around to mine after book club? I’m baking this morning, if my fingers allow it. Your favourite chocolate cake,’ she added in a bright voice.
Trouble is, it’s not my favourite any more. And my life’s getting so busy. Slowly my priorities are changing – and certain people’s inability to accept this is becoming increasingly irritating.
‘That’s really kind. Thank you, but I’ve got stuff to do here.’
Kath’s shoulders drop, but I can’t risk even a mouthful of cake. It might trigger all the old taste buds. I say goodbye more quickly than necessary.
As Bella says, my needs are just as important as anyone else’s.
I head out into the warm May air. It doesn’t take long to get to Tottenham Court Road and when I reach the garden, children are already running around, grateful for a spot of sprawling wilderness within the concrete capital. It’s a community-run green space, a registered charity that strives to encourage urban wildlife. Sometimes Lenny and I would meet here for a sandwich and I’d throw the birds crumbs, whereas Lenny would wolf his bread down in seconds.
I sit on a wooden bench, engraved with the name of a regular visitor who died last year. It’s a quarter to eleven. I take out my phone and am just about to message Casey but stop myself. Instead I admire the different shades of purple of clematis and heather. A vertical shot of yellow Forsythia separates the plants and contrasts the subtler blossom colour of the nearby magnolia. I study the different shades and shape of each plant. They look like a group of friends, each of which had maintained their identity, yet together they fit well. I’ve never fitted in. A girl from primary school, Alice, once compared me to a weed. She said I’d put down roots where I wasn’t wanted. And that I ate too much food. Everyone else had laughed.
I direct the thought to a part of my mind reserved for the old Violet who had taken far too long to react to the bullies at school; who’d been naïve enough to let Lenny hurt her. Also snuck away there were the memories of me making him a packed lunch, ironing his socks and lovingly stroking his brow as he slept off yet another prosecco-induced hangover.
I squint in the sunshine and wish I’d brought a sunhat, just as Casey looms into view. I roll up my cardigan’s sleeves. He’s wedged my pink sunglasses onto his nose. They almost match his candyfloss coloured T-shirt. I grin and stand up as he hands them over. We hug. It seems over-familiar but for just a second I don’t want to let go.
‘You smell nice,’ he says.
‘Must be all the flowers.’ I point to the magnolia.
Casey glances at me and smiles before linking his arm through mine. We stroll.
His hairs brush against my skin and the closeness of his chest makes me wonder how he’d smell if I pressed my lips against it. Carefully I avoid all talk of his manuscript and the publishing world. It’s he who brings up the subject of the Chapter Battle.
‘How did it go?’ I ask with as much disinterest as I can muster, as we pass a squadron of sky-blue butterflies battling against the breeze.
‘Need you ask?’
‘No. Although I would ask where you got that confidence so that I can purchase some.‘
